Monthly Archives: January 2015

Look! A Quiz! Everyone Loves a Quiz!

sex joke

***Disclaimer**

I am making this quiz up as I go along. The scoring may be unreliable, as it is early, and I am bad with numbers. My college counselor said it was ludicrous that someone who scored as high as I did in every other subject could score so pitifully low in math, and that I had a mental block. I like this theory, as it gives me an excuse, and a long term one at that (I don’t know about you, but I know almost nothing about removing mental blocks), not to mention a fun little story that lets me brag about my intelligence without seeming to. Not anymore, though, I guess. Okay, back to the quiz: Please note- I am not an expert at anything, and therefore, this quiz is meaningless. Much like all the stupid ass quizzes that we all do on Facebook, only I am being up front about it. So, here goes:

How Much of a Grown Up Are You?

1)You are in line at the grocery store, scanning magazine covers out of sheer desperation. This is what you are thinking:

a) I have no fucking idea who ANY of these women are, not one of them…I don’t even know why they are famous. Are they actors, singers, what? Oh, wait…there’s Kim Kardashian…why IS she famous?

b) Oh my gosh! Look! There’s a search for America’s most Beautiful Baby in Parenting! I am buying the magazine, we are totally going to win! (switches to out-loud baby talk voice) “Cause mama’s got the prettiest baby in the world, don’t I ?”

c) You know what, I have FORGOTTEN more sexual positions than you have ever learned, Cosmo. Why don’t you publish an article that actually matters? Idiots.

d) Katy Perry has great tits. BIG tits.

e) Oh my gosh! Katy Perry is so mental, what is she doing with that creep Riff-Raff? who is that guy? Her boobs look awesome in that pic!

Okay, 2: Your friend calls you on Thursday to see if you are busy Friday, and if you want to go out. Your response:

a) “Go OUT?! What do you mean, Out? Out, like out in public?”

b) ” I’d love to, but I need WAY more advance notice, duh! I can’t just pull a sitter out of my ass.”

c) “No, that doesn’t even sound remotely appealing, just…no.”

d) “Yeah, that sounds cool…just call me when you head out and I’ll meet up with you wherever.”

e) “Duh! where are we going, downtown, or Cannery Row? Maybe both, even…”

3: While walking down the street, you trip, and royally eat shit. Your first thoughts:

a) Great. This is going to hurt for WEEKS.

b) How am I going to chase the baby around if my ankle is sprained?

c) I hope I didn’t break anything. That’s how it all starts…

d) Dude. That was classic.

e) How totally fucking embarrassing. i want to die.

:4 When you find yourself in financial trouble, you:

a) cut out the Starbucks and Itunes for a while. Maybe slim down your cable package.

b) Switch to store brand diapers and generic formula, and hope the baby doesn’t suffer developmental setbacks.

c) re-evaluate your budget, and transfer money from your savings into your checking account. without even patting yourself on the back.

d) call mom, ASAP.

e) Pay day loan, or creepy older guy with a crush? Mmmm…creepy older guy. Just easier.

5: All the mail you get:

a) sits in a giant, unopened, anxiety inducing pile on your kitchen table. It never stops coming

b) are hospital and OB/GYN bills, plus offers for kids books and movies.

c) Junk, statements, more junk, ads. I pay all my stuff online.

d) I don’t really get mail at this address…which reminds me, I need to fill out a change of address.

e) Ulta coupons, Glamour Magazine, Victoria’s Secret, Student Loan.

6:Other people would say you have a ton of clothes. However, you look in your closet and drawers and see:

a) nothing I can try on without ruining my entire day. Except pajamas and yoga pants. Which are basically pajamas.

b) Before baby clothes, pregnant clothes, after baby clothes. Which are basically pajamas and yoga pants.

c) I only have things that fit me, and are comfortable. which means pajamas and yoga pants. and one nice outfit, just in case.

d) dude, no one would say I have a lot of clothes. Or of anything, for that matter.

e) Yeah, I do have a ton of clothes. But everything is so freaking cute!

7: You have to go to a fancy thing out in public. You dress up for the occassion. This is how you feel:

a) I literally tried my very hardest, and achieved a barely attractive look. If I have to sit next to a twenty year old, I’m stabbing someone.

b) Oh my GOD, I look like a sausage in a casing! What happened to my cute body?

c) I cannot do more than thirty minutes in these shoes. It’s just not going to happen. This is torture.

d) Time to bust out the leather flip-flops!

e) oooooohhhh! I look so grown up right now! Selfie time!

8: When it comes to your body, you:

a) have not given up on looking awesome again yet

b) Have no doubt that you’ll be back to normal in a few more months

c) don’t even really notice it anymore, unless something hurts

d) huh?

e) wish you could run through life naked, because, GODAMMIT. Prime booty, over here.

9: Your idea of a good marriage would mean a partner who:

a) Could keep it in his pants, hold a decent job, not be a total idiot with issues, but maybe just a decent guy who loves you. As you are.

b) A good dad, who can change a diaper and overlook a stretch mark or two.

c) A partner who is dead. that would be ideal. Dead, and rich, with no heirs.

d) Marriage? EH. Not happening.

e) Hmm…he’d have to be hot, fun, rich, hung, super good in bed, sexy, make all my friends jealous, but think all my friends are ugly. And fat. And he wouldn’t make me sign a pre-nup. No way.

10: What are your feelings about the future?

a) Still a lot of good stuff ahead, but I’m not as optimistic as I used to be, which sucks.

b) I can’t wait to see my life, and baby, in the years ahead…but I want to stay right here forever, too.

c) I don’t really have any. A little bit of fear, I guess. Things are pretty level.

d) I am not really thinking that far ahead yet.

e) I will be young and hot and awesome FOREVER!!!!

Okay, so give yourself one point for every a, two for b, three for c, four for d, and five for e.

If you got:

Mostly one’s– you are me. somewhere around thirty eight, forty, forty two. Not ready to throw the towel in, but definitely not feeling twenty-anything anymore. Life is a little off kilter- like the tweens of middle age, you aren’t quite sure where you fit in.

Mostly two’s- you are in the special dimension called mommy land. no one but other mommy’s really wants anything to do with you. No one cares about your awesome new balm for cracked nipples, or how you massaged the gas right out of your infant. Just stay home until you can act right again.

mostly three’s- you are solidly in grown up world. The joy has been systematically removed from your soul, you are self sufficient, practical, and a total bummer. You need to get laid, and wax your mustache. It would be for the good of ALL people.

Mostly fours- you are a young dude.

mostly fives- you are a silly, shallow, annoying young lady. All of us one’s, two’s and three’s used to be some version of you. Now we hate you. We take comfort in the knowledge that you will eventually out run your metabolism, too, and then wonder if you ever really wore a size four, or if it was a story you made up. Please, try to take it down an octave or two, and for the love of God, start taking care of your skin NOW.

There! Well, that was ten minutes of your life you are never getting back. But hey, it was fun to write. And if you can figure out how to share it on Facebook, go right ahead. Have a fantastic day.

That Spark.

spark

I am going to ask you if you remember being young, to which you will reply, “Of course I do!”, and in your head, you will see a snapshot of yourself at seven, the one you hated when you were small because your mouth was closed funny (to hide your missing front teeth), but love now, because your hair was so pretty and your freckles were amazing. I don’t want you to think about that snapshot. When I ask you if you remember being young, I want you to be fifteen again, or sixteen, seventeen, even- whatever that age was when you were in the front seat of a friends car, an hour past curfew (but your parents think you are at her house, and her parents think she is at your house), on your way to a raging party, and your favorite song comes on, and you are singing, your heart is leaping, your hair is blowing around you like you’re in a video, and you feel FREE, finally, totally, irrevocably free! That moment when you realize that you are pretty much as good as gone, one foot out the door of the home you have always known, that foot almost twitching to bolt out into the vast unknown world.

Do you remember being young? That wonderful stretch of time when limits are removed, and choices need to be made…eventually. But nothing, absolutely nothing, is preventing you from doing whatever it is you want to do immediately, which is usually something in a group, probably illegal, and always too much fun to stop until the sun comes up, or everyone passes out. When you are finally eighteen, and that phone there in your pocket stops feeling like a burning lump of coal, weighing you down like a boulder of guilt because you haven’t called home to tell some ridiculously overdone lie. You are an adult-lite: all of the perks, none of the expectations or even the ability to really run your own life yet. You are 18- the only thing you really know how to do yet is mess things up, party, and call home when you need help- which you will probably get, and which is probably more often than you want anyone to know.

Do you remember being twenty one or twenty two, and looking in the mirror before you went out to the bars for the night, and realizing how beautiful you were? How perfect your clothes fit, how perfect your make up was, how amazing your hair turned out…and you walked through rooms oozing self confidence, and you could see the boys checking you out from the corner of your eye. I remember one night, at about twenty two, when a boy- I guess he was a young man, he was a few years older than me- that I had known when I was in the ninth grade (I had a crush…no, I had an obsession with his best friend, which was quite one sided, embarrassingly) ran into me at a popular, packed bar in Monterey. He was walking past me, and I was looking straight ahead to avoid eye contact with any of the oglers, and he glanced at me, then did the most flattering double take I have ever seen. He grabbed my arm and I looked up, seeing it was him, and felt a satisfaction I remember to this day. “Is this really Courtney?!” He said, “Wow! You have really grown up!” Or something like that. The words weren’t nearly as important as the sentiment, and the way it made me feel. As if life was just so amazing, and I was just getting started. As if anything could happen.

That is what it was, I think- the sense that I was just at the beginning of something that would become my life, and the world was my oyster. As if anything could happen. That vast unknown was no longer beckoning, I was out there in it, and I was not afraid in the least. I was far too young and inexperienced to be afraid. I was sure that I would either stay the same forever, or simply grow more awesome.

Do you remember being totally unafraid of what lay ahead? Or, what about this- do you remember the first time you became afraid of whatever was next? I don’t remember either of those things, just like I don’t remember when that feeling of happy anticipation about life started to fade, or when my ability to roll with the punches got a little more prone to avoiding the punches in the first place. I couldn’t tell you when cynicism replaced my unguarded trust in people, or when I began to worry about nearly everything, after having worried about nothing my entire life. I can’t tell you when the changes began, but I can tell you that I felt it. I felt it, and it scared me, until it got big enough that it started making me forget that I had ever been another way.

I have been in mourning off and on for the past few years,and I thought it was my youth that I so sorely missed. I thought it was the perky tits and shapely ass that just grew there, asking nothing of me in return. I thought it was me missing all the heads that turned when I passed, and that I was shallow and vain for feeling so terrible about it. But I think it was so much more than that. I think it was the spark of life that lit me up, day after day, making me feel so alive, and so full of promise, and as if life would never be more awful than I could handle. That I would be able to smile my way into peoples good graces forever, and I would be fine. I missed the feeling of buoyancy, of being full of so much hope that I could barely keep myself from floating away.

We become heavier, earthbound things, at some point- most of us do. The spark of life and possibility gives the impression of being your inherent nature, but it is burning less brightly just as you hit your stride. It’s like a heat source that propels us, gives us the momentum we need to launch off into our lives. We don’t stay young forever. We have children, and we begin to put someone before ourselves, we learn about love in a whole unexpected new way, as if we have only been using a third of our hearts our whole lives, and now this whole new level reveals itself. But with love comes the worry, and the guilt, and the trappings- responsibilities, no more all night parties, no more spontaneity, no more loud sex or sleeping in. We get jobs and start chasing money the way we chased boys, we start to want things, we start to crave safety the way we once craved freedom.

We bolt the door at night against the vast unknown, and tell our children about the dangers that exist out there. Strangers and weirdos and drunk drivers, people who could harm them. Waking up to the feeling that anything could happen today fills you with anxiety now, instead of excitement. For just one day, you would like NOTHING to happen. Fifteen years ago, a day when nothing happened could send you careening into crushing, life ending, despair. Now, it would be a miracle. You watch your daughter, at seventeen, as she chomps at the bit, one foot in, and one foot out, of the only home she has ever known-whatever place you were, that was her home. She is suffering under the burden of these last few months at home, going crazy because she can’t answer the siren’s call she hears out there, out in the sea of possibility. It seems impossible that she is almost grown, but then you realize how tired you feel, next to her. How crazy everything she says now seems to you. The spark is blooming in her spirit, gathering heat, getting ready to launch this beauty into the unknown.

And now you know the way your mother felt, looking at you. A mixture of pride and annoyance, excitement, hope, and fear. Confused by the swiftness of what had seemed like such a lot of time, but ready, willing, almost, to let you go. Telling you how great you’d be, and crying in the shower every day. This journey is a tricky one, and nothing ever, really, is what you think it will be.  When you are young, you know you will get older, but you don’t really believe it. And when you get older, you know you you were young, but you can’t really remember what it was…can’t forget all you know, and all that’s ben, not even for one second so that you might remember. Bittersweet, each part of life, a loss for every gain, and something left behind with every step.

A Few Things…

don't give a fuck

The first thing: I really need to sit down here and write whatever it is that I feel compelled to write, when I am feeling the compulsion. I need to finish whatever it is, and I need to then publish it. This used to be a pretty straightforward cycle for me, but all of the sudden, I have started dragging my feet, over-thinking, stopping in the middle and then abandoning nearly finished blogs altogether. It seemed like a phase, at first, but now it looks suspiciously like a bad habit. I have enough of those already, thank you very much.  So, I am going to try to do that- sit down while the sittin’s good, write until it is written, and then publish it. I don’t want to alarm anyone, but you guys are really missing out on some great and brilliant musings because of my selfish withholding, and it has to stop.

The next thing: My only New Year’s Resolution this year was to give zero fucks what anyone may or may not be thinking, saying, or feeling about me, due to an inordinate amount of time spent obsessing (by me) over what everyone, from the mail man to my mother, those thoughts, etc., may be. I am rapidly closing in on my 40th birthday, and I’m very tired of giving so many fucks about imagined, and real, opinions about me, my life, and whatever else. I mean, who fucking cares, right? It’s exhausting, and I have vowed to quit it. Unfortunately, as is often the case when resolving to change something, I find that I am either giving a lot more fucks about the above mentioned things, or I am just hyper aware of all the fucks I give. But I have gotten good at recognizing the tension that creeps into my body when i start giving a fuck, and I can quickly relax into the “give a fuck” contraction, and breathe my way out of it. Seriously, though, I would like to be able to take in someone’s advice, opinion, or even their shitty, backhanded compliment, and not take it ON, like it’s automatically a fact, or a misconception of which I must convince the sharer otherwise. “Oh, really, you think I could improve my parenting skills? Well, aren’t your thoughts straying far away from home these days, eh? You have a nice day.” “Sooo…you have some advice I didn’t solicit about how I run my life, huh? Wow, and you’ve never even been to my house, met my kids, or seen me outside of a controlled environment. I’m just going to keep texting while you talk, but I am totally listening to you.” THAT is how I would LOVE to be. Instead, I am more like “Oh, shit, the neighbors are watching me parallel park…I’ll just…I think I can pull straight in, there’s enough room. SHIT. I’m twenty feet from the curb, I’ll do it the other way. Why are they looking at me? FUCK. They probably think I am such a lunatic. Oh my God, I am STILL ten miles from the curb. Fuck it, I am just leaving it, I don’t care if I’m in the middle of the road. if those assholes weren’t sitting there, judging me, maybe I could park my car like a normal person…” And this is just me, parking my CAR. There’s a part of me that knows how insane my thinking is, and that they probably don’t even notice what is happening at all. There is a part of me that understands, even if they are gawking at my shitty parking job, why the fuck should I care? I mean, it doesn’t matter. But the bigger part of me is hysterical, loud, and incredibly anxious and sensitive, and she wants those gawking assholes to be in AWE of her mad parallel parking skills. She is the one I am trying to mellow out a little bit.

My hope is that I can bring my “no fucks given here” policy to my blog, as well. I would like you to share your feelings and opinions with me here, with the understanding that I am hearing what you are saying, and I am not going to allow it to embed itself on my skin like a tattoo. I am not even going to put it in my saved file unless it really is worthy, and I will offer, in return, full disclosure when writing, no matter how annoying that is to my mother. Feel free to not care a whit what I am telling you, of course. I am not there just yet, but that is my goal.

The last thing: The other reason I think I need to get on here and write, as close to daily as I can is this: I am just drowning in good material these days. And if I don’t use it, I lose it, or at least, the real essence of “it”, when we are referring to writing. You have to get it out when it is consuming you, because it can die down so quickly, the fire that flares up when one is taken by the muse…anything written when the steam is dying down is going to be less engaging. For me, in my writing, anyway.

Today, I had a horrible day, which means I learned some stuff. The lesson today was this: No matter how incredibly dramatic and awful things appear at first, they almost always simmer down to simply lame and tiring within hours. So getting all hysterical over stuff is pretty much a waste of time. The secondary lesson was: You will instinctively know when it is high time you put your foot down, stand your ground, and defend yourself, and you will also realize that you are a pretty decent human being, all things considered. You, I mean I, do not have to deal with manipulation or bullying from anyone, and I won’t. So THERE.

Well, I am afraid that everything from the second paragraph on is a run-on sentence, written in Pig Latin, but I am not going to check. I am just going to get this published. Besides, everyone knows Pig Latin, anyway.

Check- In Time

Hi. I have been a bad blogger, again. I really don’t have time to tell you about my sad backslide over the holidays, or how I made a spectacular mess of spending meaningful time with my friends and family over that two week stretch of chaos we call “Christmas”. I would tell you that I did the best I could, but I am not sure that would be 100% honesty. I limped through it.

Now, I am back to reality. I have to go take a shower to get all of the sand out of my hair that my daughter threw into it at the beach yesterday. I have to get ready to show up for a job that I think I may require pharmaceutical help to make it through, and this is of some concern to me. The bigger issue is- I don’t know what the hell else I want to do, other than write, and I am clearly not very consistent with that either. The only other thing I can think of is that I would love to be an herb specialist, and own an apothecary, but how realistic is that? I still use coffeemate in my coffee, for Pete’s sake, and I don’t even do yoga with much conviction. I am pretty sure that is a job requirement for such an endeavor.

Anyway, I have been waking up, for three days now, to full on anxiety attacks, and this is not like me. I am struggling, to say the least, and I do get tired of saying those words. I am on a waiting list to do a mental health retreat type thing, to maybe figure out, for real, what the hell it is that is going on with me. I don’t care if you know, I don’t feel like hiding anything. Life is too short to feel the way I keep finding myself feeling, and I don’t know what the answer is…but I am certainly not ready to stop looking.

I am hanging in there. I have faith that it will all work out- because it really always does. That is all for now, I need to get this sand out of my hair. Have the loveliest day you are capable of having. I know I will.